


Misdial

by clarkescrusade (alindy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alindy/pseuds/clarkescrusade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt "accidentally swapped phones with someone at a party and don't realize it until their mom calls in the morning and you spend like three hours talking to her."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke awoke with a shake, something buzzing obnoxiously beneath her. As she fumbled for her phone, a pain pulsing in her brain, Clarke cursed Raven and her need to celebrate her new job with an obscene amount of alcohol. Clarke’s hand felt the hard block of cell phone, and she yanked it up to the side of her face.

“Raven, you better have not-”

“Not Raven,” came a voice, cutting Clarke off with a cheery yet sardonic tone. Clarke recoiled from the phone, holding it out in front of her to realize that the device in her hand was certainly not hers.

“Oh, hi,” Clarke stumbled in reply. “…Sorry?”

“You’re fine,” the voice commented. “I’d just like to know how and why you have my son’s phone.”

“I am currently trying to figure that out myself,” Clarke sheepishly replied. It was incredibly embarrassing, Clarke recognized, and she could feel her cheeks heat up. Even though she didn’t feel like her memories were that spotty from the night before, she couldn’t remember whose phone she could possibly have.

“Well, could you hand it to him?” she questioned. Clarke sputtered over the phone, her cheeks now practically radiating off heat from the embarrassment. This women  thought she had slept with her son, admitted she couldn’t remember him, and then had somehow stolen his phone.

“Ma’am, I didn’t sleep with your son, I mean, we probably accidentally swapped phones at the bar last night? I promise I didn’t just steal it, because it’s become increasingly apparent my phone is no where in sight.”

“Calm down, sweetie,” chuckled the voice. “I promise I’m not judging you. I’m saying more about Bellamy’s character than your own. He’s supposed to be helping me assemble a new station for my sewing machine today but I can’t find him for the life of me.”

“Would you like my number? If we swapped phones he probably has mine and you could call him,” Clarke suggested.

“That’s so smart,” she responded along with a small laugh. “I’m Aurora, by the way, please don’t call me ma’am ever again.”

“Noted,” Clarke answered. “I”m Clarke. Should I come drop off the phone? I have a free day, it really wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re an angel,” she assured. “I’ll try to track down my son. My address in my contact on the phone, it’s all up to date.”

“Perfect,” Clarke answered. “See you soon.”

* * *

After taking a shower and clearing away the fog from her head, Clarke felt significantly better. She probably spent too much time contemplating what exactly to wear for a stranger, but Aurora seemed nice and Clarke didn’t want to appear like a hoodlum (she cringed at the use of the word, Raven really was right when she said she needed to get out more).

It was almost noon by the time Clarke slipped into the driveway. The house was idyllic in a quaint sort of way, in a well-lived aesthetic. It was the sort of house her mother would never want to live in simply because it was clear there would be clutter, remnants of a life. Clarke felt slightly nervous at the prospect of entry.

The doorbell was startling but cheery as it echoed through the home. Clarke distantly heard a clatter and then a yell of some indecipherable word as footsteps approached.

“You’re here,” Aurora welcomed, shooting her a kind smile. Clarke had a hard time telling exactly how old she was simply because she was one of those women who looked so well-preserved with her youthful energy and smooth skin. Aurora moved to the side of the door and motioned for her to enter; Clarke moved with trepidation but returned the pleasant look she shot her way.

“Here’s the phone,” Clarke answered, holding the iphone out to her. Since realizing it was not her phone, Clarke had received two texts from a guy named Miller, one from Octavia #thebestsisterintheworld (she assumed the contact name had  _not_  been a personal choice), and a voicemail left from Harper. It was weird to hold such a personal object for so long, to see insight into someone’s life when you knew nothing about them. Clarke was ready to get rid of the thing.

“Would you like some tea?” Aurora replied, ignoring Clarke’s outstretched hand and moving toward the kitchen. She pathetically followed behind, slightly confused but not bothered.

“You don’t have to,” Clarke spoke, watching her move toward the stove to pull a kettle off before grabbing two cups and sitting at the table.

“Sit,” Aurora ordered softly, eyeing her and then the chair. Clarke did as she was told, moving toward the seat and plopping herself down into it. “Bellamy picked up when I called him, he said that he’d probably be here in an hour. Can you wait for your phone?”

“Sure,” Clarke answered. It wasn’t like she had much else going on anyway, might as well sit with Aurora for an hour or so and then get her phone back. Raven was probably freaking out about not being able to get in contact with her, which meant by extension Monty most likely would be too. The faster she could get it back, the better off she’d be.

“Ok, so tell me about you and - oh no,” she trailed off, her eyes scanning over Clarke’s shirt. Clarke felt uncomfortable with the trailing eyes, and she shifted in her seat and moved her arms up.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Sweetie, you have a rip in the armpit of your shirt and a button that’s just about to pop off. The shirt needs to go, it’s barely holding up,” Aurora told her, her eyes scanning over it in a familiar look Clarke recognized from her mother. But instead of medical texts and X-rays, an open chest cavity, it was fabric and buttons Aurora looked over intently, that similar sort of fervor evident.

“It was a present from my dad,” Clarke answered simply with a shrug of her shoulders. There wasn’t anything particularly over sentimental about the words, more of a statement than anything else, but Aurora’s eyes softened and she sent a mischievous smile back at her.

“Good thing you are in the presence of the best seamstress in all of the county of Ark,” Aurora spouted back. “Now let’s get that shirt off of you and fixed up.”

“I don’t have anything underneath this but a bra. You seem really nice but I don’t think we’re quite comfortable enough for me to just stand half naked behind you,” Clarke spoke up.

Aurora stared over her figure, her eyebrows scrunching together. “I have a feeling you won’t fit in my daughter’s clothes…or mine, you’re much curvier than us I’m afraid,” she stated. “You know what? I think Bellamy left some clothes here last weekend, there should be a shirt. Here, wait one second.”

Aurora slipped out of the room quickly, and Clarke felt the need to stand up as she heard her rustling around in the adjoining laundry room. She came back carrying an oversized plaid shirt and held it out with a victorious sort of smile. “Change into this and bring me your shirt, I’ll have it as perfect as the day your dad bought it in no time.”

Clarke nodded with a grateful smile, moving toward the bathroom Aurora had signaled with her hand and slipping into the shirt. A giggle erupted from her mouth as her eyes landed on the mirror. The plaid shirt was just long enough to make it look like she was barely wearing pants, falling over her shorts and the arms falling past her hands. Before she knew what she was doing, Clarke took a quick sniff and realized it still smelled like the owner of the shirt, a sort of earthy smell that made Clarke feel calm. it was kind of addicting, and Clarke rolled her eyes at herself as she exited the bathroom and followed the sound of Aurora’s humming down the hallway.

“My shirt,” Clarke declared, holding it out in front of herself. Aurora turned around, laughing briefly at the sight in front of her, and grabbed the shirt. Clarke’s eyes landed on the crumbling table the sewing machine was sitting on, and she couldn’t keep the words from exiting her mouth. “Your son really does need to help you out, wow.”

“I know, I can’t believe this things hasn’t crumbled to the ground already.”

“Where’s the box of the new station?” Clarke questioned, noticing it before Aurora even motioned to it. “I’m going to try to do this; I have two engineering friends and I think through osmosis I’ve picked up a few things.”

“You really don’t have to do that. I’m more than happy just to have you sit and talk to me, God knows I could use the company,” Aurora spoke, rifling through a box of threads and pulling out a few that resembled the color of Clarke’s faded shirt.

“I like to keep my hands busy,” Clarke replied with a shrug. “Plus I can still talk to you even as I work. I’m quite the multitasker.”

“Ok,” she agreed, a small huff of a laugh exiting through her lips. “So, why were you out drinking last night? Were you celebrating something?”

“My friend Raven, one of the engineer friends, just got this amazing job. She believes strongly in celebrating things with a large amount of liquor. It’s pretty unfair considering she holds her liquor much better than the rest of us,” Clarke answered, organizing the pieces out in front of her on the floor.

“And what do you do?” Aurora asked, her words punctuated with the sound of the sewing machine.

“I’m in my last year of College for an Art History degree,” Clarke explained. “I’ve been interning at the Art Museum and I’m hoping to get a job as a curator there when I graduate, so fingers crossed.”

“That’s so neat,” Aurora exclaimed, her words extremely genuine. She turned away from the machine and perched a pair of small glasses on her nose as she prepared to secure the button. “You and Bellamy would probably get along well, he’s a History teacher.”

“A History nerd, huh?” Clarke proposed.

“He teaches European History…don’t even get him started on Schindler’s List. You won’t be able to stop him talking,” she divulged. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder about who this guy was, how she could have somehow switched her phone with his and not even remember his face.

“Well that’s a little rude,” came a voice. Clarke was startled out of her calm reverie, her heart skipping a beat as she flipped around and saw the man standing in the doorway. His eyes widened as he noticed her in front of him  _wearing his shirt_ before he trailed them down and then back up the length of her. It must be immensely confusing to walk in to your mother’s home just to find some random stranger wearing your shirt and looking practically naked in it, Clarke acknowledged, and she felt herself shuffle in discomfort at the situation.

When she calmed down after a breath and actually took a good look at him, Clarke could remember seeing him the night before. She’d already been a few drinks in when he showed up at the bar, and Raven had made some sort of degrading comment about how she would do that any day (Wick was extremely offended and Clarke wondered if Raven would ever get over herself and realize how totally in love with him she was). Raven, who had been using Clarke’s phone for some reason (it was a foggy memory) had went to talk to him; it must have been when the switch happened.

Up close and clear of the fog of alcohol, Clarke finally understood the truthfulness of Raven’s statement from the night prior. He was the kind of good looking that was the littlest bit dangerous with his tanned, dark skin and tousled hair, freckles that popped out and made you want to trail them with your fingers, eyes that seemed to fervently latch on to everything in its path. He was a person filled with passion, and every action he did showed it.

“I only speak the truth, honey,” Aurora stated, sending him a blinding smile. Bellamy rolled his eyes at her, but it was clear he loved his mother deeply.

“Why is there a stranger in your house wearing one of my shirts and starting the project I was going to do?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow and side glancing over to Clarke.

“You have my phone,” she answered for Aurora. “Which I would rather like back.”

Bellamy’s lips pursed for a second before he stepped forward and pulled something out of his pocket. Her phone sat in his palm, and Clarke quickly grabbed it and handed him back his own. She tried to ignore the way his skin seemed to spark against her own because,  _really_ , it was just too ridiculous for someone she didn’t even know.

“Still doesn’t explain the shirt,” he replied, casually slipping the phone into his back pocket.

“I’m sewing up  _her_  shirt,” Aurora interjected. “Now could you be a bit more polite?”

Bellamy looked sheepishly at his mother and held out his hand. “Bellamy Blake.”

“Clarke Griffin.”

“Nice to meet you,” he replied, his voice a little mocking. Clarke smirked back at him, rolling her eyes and dropping his hands.

“Oh, I’m sure the pleasure is  _all_  mine,” she joked.

“All done,” Aurora declared, holding up the shirt victoriously. Clarke smiled hugely as she took it from her, trying to convey how much it meant to her as she grabbed it back from her and her smile only increased.

“Thank you so much,” Clarke spoke. “I can change out of the shirt, give it back to you, and then be out of your hair in no time now that I have my phone back.” Clarke truthfully felt a little sad about returning Bellamy’s shirt; it was soft on her skin and she’d become rather attached to the smell in the past half hour or so.

“Don’t,” Bellamy declared, the word coming out a little more harshly than he most likely intended it. Clarke raised an eyebrow in question. “I just mean, it looks good on you. You can keep it for a little while.”

“When will I ever get it back to you?” she asked, a small smile hanging on to the edge of her mouth. Bellamy moved a few steps closer, that smirk back in place on his face. He reached down to her hand, pulling the phone that still sat wrapped in her fingers from her grasp and plugging what Clarke assumed to be his number into her phone.

“That’s up to you, princess,” he stated. “Preferably sooner than later, though.”

“We’ll see how I can fit you into my schedule,” she joked, the smile growing unconsciously. Clarke ripped her eyes away from him, a task that proved much more difficult than originally planned, and turned toward Aurora. “Thank you for mending the shirt.”

“Anytime,” she replied enthusiastically, smiling goofily between the two of them. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon, Clarke.”

Clarke spared one last look at Bellamy and couldn’t help but hope for the same exact thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the heavily requested part two

Clarke didn’t want to seem desperate and she certainly didn’t want to seem  _overeager_  (she wasn’t, she did just fine on her own  _thank you very much_ ), but ever since Bellamy had taken her phone and plugged his number into it, it felt like her phone was always burning a hole through her pocket or staring straight at her, begging to be used. She may or may not have also been wearing the shirt practically religiously through the past few days, but she would never for a million years admit to it.

“Have you moved since I left?” Raven questioned, dropping her keys on the counter and slipping out of her light jacket.

“You only left like an hour ago,” Clarke defended, glancing up from her laptop, her face scrunching into a look of distaste.

“Clarke,” Raven began, stepping forward and eyeing her from under a raised brow, “I’ve legitimately been gone for five hours. I went to work and came back in that time…are you ok?”

Clarke sighed, sending her a soft smile. It was meant to be reassuring, but Clarke was honestly kinda tired (she was a little confused on how it was possible that she hadn’t moved for five hours and was unaware of it, but she shook it off). It was a long day, the kind of long that, though she hadn’t really done much at all, it felt like she had been moving through cement.

“Hold on,” Raven gasped, pushing toward her quickly. “Please tell me you are not still wearing his shirt.”

“I am not!” she exclaimed, pulling the blanket up around herself to hide the flannel fabric from Raven’s view. Raven attacked her on the couch, pulling at the blanket that Clarke stubbornly tried to hold over herself. Tickling Clarke briefly on the waist, Raven got the smallest moment of reprieve to shove it off and look pathetically over her.

“Would you like to try that again?” she questioned, plopping down next to her on the couch, her breath still a little rough from the effort.

“Fine, I am clearly still wearing it,” Clarke stated. “It’s not my fault it’s super comfortable.”

“It’s pathetic,” she replied. “Why don’t you just call him?”

“It’s just…” she trailed off, groaning underneath her breath. “What in the world do I have to offer?”

“Oh no,” Raven ordered, snapping her face towards Clarke and sending over a stern look. “We are not doing this again. It’s been months since Lexa! And even longer since Finn. I am not taking this ‘I suck’ crap again, do you understand?”

“My last two attempts at relationships have ended horrendously and, I’m sorry if I have trust issues or whatever, but I have a right to them,” Clarke argued. “He’s going to meet me and realize I am not nearly as interesting as he thought I was.”

“I highly doubt that,” Raven scoffed.

“When he met me I was mysterious and interesting, I was standing in his shirt and talking to his mom and anything after that is going to seem so mundane. I assure you he likes the mystery more than he would like the girl,” Clarke insisted.

“For someone so remarkably badass, Clarke,” Raven began, her tone incredulous, “you have some serious self image problems from time to time. Now get that curvy ass of yours off the couch and into something hot because we’re going out tonight.”

“I already said I don’t want to call Bellamy,” Clarke sighed. Raven rolled her eyes and stood up from the couch, grabbing Clarke’s hands and helping her to her feet.

“Did I say anything about calling him?” Raven proposed. “I didn’t think so. We aren’t meeting up with him, we’re just going out and getting shitfaced.”

“I can’t bounce back as quickly as you can, that isn’t fair,” Clarke groaned, already slouching toward her room despite her protests. “I’ll go if Monty goes!” she suggested, stopping in her path and looking back toward Raven.

“He’s more depressing than you right now, if you believe it,” she mentioned. “He’s all hung up on that bartender.”

“That’s exactly why we should bring him, help cheer him up,” Clarke stated. Besides the fact that Clarke just felt calmer with Monty near, she also knew that if he was with them the night wouldn’t be 100% all about Clarke. She wasn’t all that sure she was capable of Raven focused solely on her for the night, trying to get her drunk and pushing her toward Bellamy in her suggestible state.

“No go, I’m afraid,” Raven announced. “Jasper is taking him out tonight already, they’re having a bro night or something as equally ridiculous.”

“You two always think you know so much more about relationships, especially Jasper now that he’s in a relationship,” Clarke claimed, her face scrunching up with the thought.

“Stop avoiding the inevitable and go get ready,” Raven ordered back, unaffected by the words. Clarke groaned and shot her a quick glare, but she moved toward her bedroom anyhow. It wasn’t like there was much else she could do. When Raven told you to do something, it was best that you did it. A mad or ornery Raven Reyes was one of the scariest things Clarke had ever seen.

“I’m going to shower,” Clarke spoke. “Since everything I do is displeasing to you anyway, you should probably just go pick out my outfit too.”

“That’s the spirit!” Raven exclaimed, ignoring Clarke’s sass. Clarke flipped her off, but Raven simply laughed in return.

* * *

“You’re buying me first round,” Clarke announced as they pushed into the bar. Raven smiled at her, grabbing on to her arm enthusiastically.

“I was going to do it anyway, now come on,” Raven instructed, tugging her along with her toward the bar. Clarke moved along with her, noticing a few pairs of eyes that followed Raven as she broke through the crowd. It wasn’t very unusual, though all that more comedic now that Raven was slowly starting to get less allured by it. Clarke had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with Wick, but she didn’t want to berate Raven with questions about her feelings. When Raven needed time to think, it was just better to give it to her.

“I would like just about anything you have on tap, pick your favorite,” Raven half-shouted the order to the bartender across from them, “and she will have a vodka and sprite.”

“Easy enough,” he replied, sliding the two drinks to them across the bar along with a face splitting smile. Everything about him was far too overly excited, but Raven must have been in a particularly good mood because she gave him a fairly good tip and a smile in return.

“Hey, don’t look now, but is that the guy who owns the shirt you’ve been wearing for half a week straight?” Raven questioned. Clarke ignored her warning and whipped around, her eyes finding Bellamy just in time to see him staring right back at her. He offered up a slow smirk and an inviting eyebrow raise, and Clarke had just enough sense in her to send a soft smile before hurtling herself back in Raven’s direction.

“I didn’t want to see him,” she gritted out between her teeth.

“No, you were  _afraid_  to see him,” Raven corrected. “There’s a difference. Now go talk to him because he’s staring over here still.  _Go_.”

Clarke shot her a slight glare, but pushed off of the bar stool and took a deep breath. Raven was right, as annoying as that was, and she couldn’t resist the opportunity to speak with Bellamy again. He looked irritatingly good with a simple henley, a leather jacket on top of that, and Clarke was suddenly thankful that Raven had chosen her outfit for her.

“Hey stranger,” he greeted as she slid up next to him, taking a sip from her drink. “I’d offer to buy you a drink but it looks like you’ve already got one.”

“I’m afraid I’m already set,” she agreed, sending a mock cheers in his direction before taking another drink from the glass.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to call,” he admitted, but his confidence never wavered. The words were accompanied by a small smirk, a glimmer in his eyes, and Clarke couldn’t help but notice how magnetizing it was to be around Bellamy. There was something about him that seemed to pull you in, and it made it that much more thrilling and exciting to be around him.

“Wait,” Clarke suddenly realized, his words flashing through her mind. “I didn’t call you.”

Bellamy’s face flooded with confusion, his eyebrows scrunching together, and Clarke groaned as clarity hit. Clarke turned toward the spot where she had left Raven, finding her still sitting in the same spot but now bleeding feigned innocence. She must have felt Clarke’s eyes because she shrugged good heartedly, looking sheepishly over and Clarke rolled her eyes in response.

“My roommate, it was all my roommate,” Clarke declared.

“I see,” Bellamy stated, nodding slightly. “So you were just planning on keeping my shirt hostage for the rest of your life? That’s just bad manners, princess.”

A laugh bubbled out from Clarke’s throat, and she felt a smile rip across her face at the words. Bellamy’s smirk shifted into something of a soft smile in return, and she shook her head slightly at the antics.

“I have to say I can see why you want it back so bad,” Clarke stated. “It’s a pretty comfortable shirt.”

“So you’ve been wearing it a lot, huh? It kinda looks like you have a thing for me…” he trailed off. Clarke noticed the error of her words seconds too late, looking over at him with nerves rumbling low in her stomach. The worry didn’t last long, though, because as her eyes fell on him she felt them slip away with the light hearted wink he sent her.

“I did  _not_  say that,” she argued, but the lightness in her words suggested that it might not be totally untrue.

“So if you’ve been wearing my shirt and practically  _dreaming_  about me,” he joked, his smile growing at the eye roll she sent his way, “why haven’t you called?”

“Oh, that is  _so_  not a bar conversation,” she admitted, cringing after the words left her mouth. “It all has to do with me being at fault, not you.”

Bellamy’s eyes trailed over her face, searching for something Clarke could not even begin to guess at. It was oddly personal, like Bellamy could read her in some kind of way she had never been read before. It didn’t feel judging or critical, merely intimate, and Clarke realized she wasn’t all that sure anyone had ever looked at her that way before in her life.

“My mom told me you’re into art?” Bellamy mentioned, changing the subject. Clarke appreciated that he didn’t push her further, and she released a soft breath at the comfort of being in the realm of her expertise.

“I am, I intern at the Art Museum,” she explained. “And you’re a total history nerd.”

“I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that,” he replied, his lip curving up at one edge. He took a swig from his beer, setting it back down and leaning his hip against the bar. “Though I have a feeling we could get into a good debate when it comes to historical art.”

“You’re probably right,” Clarke agreed, “but we should probably save that for another time, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you right now.”

“Another time?” Bellamy teased. “I just wanted my shirt back…seeing you again? Princess, that seems like a lot to ask.”

“Guess you won’t be getting that shirt back then,” she mocked, shrugging and sending an innocent look in his direction. “It doesn’t bother me all that much, I rather like wearing it.”

“You’re a regular delinquent,” he stated, leaning closer. “If I promise to suffer through a date with you later this week, will you give it back?”

Clarke smiled coyly at him, her eyes becoming the slightest bit hooded. “If you go on a date with me later this week, you can come back and get that shirt from me right now.”

Bellamy’s expression flashed with the slightest bit of surprise, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come. “That’s rather forward of you, princess.”

Clarke hummed, a small laugh fluttering out from between her lips. “Probably,” she agreed, walking a few steps backward and keeping her eyes on him. “You coming?”

Bellamy didn’t move for a few seconds, most likely just to mess with Clarke, but he took one more swig from his beer and then set it down on the bar and followed. He reached her in two strides and guided her from the bar, his hand on her lower back.

As far as bad decisions went, Clarke had made quite a few of them in her life, enough to need more than one hand to list. She was certain, though, that Bellamy Blake?

He was  _so_  not one of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part to the au

Clarke groaned slightly into the pillow, an annoying stream of light flittering through the window and landing right on her face. As she tried to roll over and out of the light, she felt a weight over her stomach, the events of last night rushing back to her in one strong wave. She wasn’t embarrassed, last night had been great, but now she was left figuring out where her and Bellamy went from here which proved infinitely more terrifying.

“Stop moving,” he grumbled from behind her, his grip tightening the littlest bit. A laugh bubbled from Clarke’s throat and she twisted herself around in his arms, turning toward him. His arm pulled her in tighter against his chest, smiling down at her with a smile that Clarke felt pretty certain was the most dangerous thing she had ever seen.

If Bellamy during the day was beautiful, Bellamy during the morning was something 100 times more indescribable. His hair flew in a million directions, his freckles seemed to twinkle underneath the morning light, and the smirk that stretched across his face, slow and smooth, made Clarke want to kiss it right off his face.

“I have to pee,” she admitted, the smile on her face growing tenfold at the eye roll Bellamy gave her in reply.

“Sorry, you don’t get to leave,” he replied. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Oh, shut up,” she groaned, laughing as he tugged her hips closer. Clarke moved with the tug, pushing herself up so she straddled him and sending that coy smile once again. She leaned forward, her blonde hair cascading around them, and kissed him slow and sweet. Their lips moved together lazily, in a slow rhythm, and Clarke was fairly positive that morning kisses had never been this sweet before, this  _perfect_.

Bellamy’s hands slid up her sides, moving over her thin tank top, and Clarke snapped out and grabbed them. She pulled away from the kiss and moved his hands in front of herself, smiling impishly. “Boys are so easy to distract,” she chastised, picking herself up off of Bellamy and stepping away from the bed.

“You used your womanly wiles against me!” he joked, twisting toward her and holding his head up with one arm.

“I can not believe you just used the phrase womanly wiles,” Clarke released in a laugh. “You’re such a nerd.”

Clarke saw his eyes narrow, grabbing at a pillow to his right and whipping it toward her. Clarke yelped, shutting the bathroom door quickly and hearing the clunk of the pillow against it. Laughter erupted from her mouth as she shook her head, turning toward the sink and eyeing herself in the mirror. She was surprised to see how joyful she looked, how relaxed her face was, how wild and free her hair was around her, and it made her smile increase even more.

She moved and did her business, glancing only quickly at her jovial face before pushing back through the door. Her feet halted as she eyed over Bellamy and his sprawled position on the bed, his smirk stretching across his face as he eyed her like there was some kind of secret he was keeping.

“What?” she asked, watching his smirk grow the littlest bit more before sliding into a smile.

“You’re beautiful,” he replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulder like it wasn’t a big deal. Clarke knew she had been called beautiful before, but it had never felt so meaningful or like it carried so much weight.

“Shut up,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, but she felt like Bellamy could see straight through her and how much his words truly meant.

“Come back here,” he stated, jokingly patting the bed beside him.

“I have to say something first,” she declared, narrowing her eyes at his raised eyebrow. “Bellamy Blake-”

“Wow, this is very formal, do you want me to sit up?” he joked.

“Shut up,” she repeated. “Ok, Bellamy, I really like you and I want this thing,” she emphasized, moving her arms helplessly between the two of them, “to continue.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” he scoffed. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Clarke stated, moving toward the bed and pouncing on to it. She flopped down closer to Bellamy, purposefully hitting him in the stomach before laying her head down on his chest. He grunted slightly, but greedily welcomed her back.

“Hey,” he started, waiting for her to lazily look up at him through her eyelashes, “I don’t break my promises. I believe I said I was going to take you on a date.”

“Good,” she commented, an easy sort of smile spreading across her face.

“I mean, plus I’d be an idiot to ditch you after last night. That thing you did with your tongue, man…” he trailed off, chuckling as Clarke hit him in the stomach.

“Oh my god, shut up,” she cut him off, reaching up and placing a hard kiss on his lips. His hand reached up in to her hair, the other hand ghosting over her left hip, leaving a trail of heat wherever it moved.

“You tell me to shut up a lot,” he pointed out as he pulled back. “I think you’re using me for my body, this relationship really isn’t going to hold up very well.”

“Relationship?” she proposed, raising an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes in return, but Clarke noticed the slight blush that creeped up over Bellamy’s features. Bellamy was saved from his embarrassment as Clarke’s phone rang on the bedside table, and she reached out blindly for it and pulled it to her ear.

“Hello?” she greeted, turning back to Bellamy to see him holding in laughter. She raised her eyebrow in question, looking at him expectantly.

“My phone,” he whispered, pointedly looking toward the device in her hand.

“Clarke?” the voice returned and Clarke internally groaned as she recognized the voice, slamming her head down on her pillow. “You and my son switching phones again?”

The tone was teasing, lighthearted, and Clarke could tell that there was a sort of childish glee in her voice. She turned toward Bellamy to see him sending a smug smile, his eyes trailing over her with a sort of reverence that made Clarke feel hot in her skin.

“Something like that,” she answered with a chuckle.

“I knew you two would be perfect,” Aurora exclaimed. “I’m sure Octavia will love you too, wow, welcome to the famil-”

“Nope,” Bellamy grabbed the phone from her hands, “I heard the word family. I’ll be right back.”

Bellamy popped up from the bed, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the forehead before pushing out of the room. “Hey mom, what have we said about moving too qui…”

The words trailed off and Clarke moved toward her closet, laughing softly to herself as she picked out some clothes to throw on. Clarke slipped into her jeans, jumping slightly to pull them up over her thighs. As she slipped into a shirt, Bellamy reappeared in her doorway.

“So my mom thinks we’re engaged now,” Bellamy broke the silence. “Hey, look what I found.”

Clarke pushed the shirt down her body, pulling it over her stomach as she turned to see Bellamy. He was leaning up against the doorframe, dangling his shirt from his fingers as he stared over at her.

“Weird, I never got a ring,” she joked, moving forward and grabbing the shirt from him.

“Are you planning on stealing that shirt again?” Bellamy proposed. “I went through all this work to get it back and you’re still keeping it from me.”

“Well now that we’re engaged I thought we were sharing,” Clarke replied with a fakely innocent shrug. “Now are you going to get dressed or are you going to potentially scare my roommate when she comes back in from breakfast with Wick.”

“I think I might just stay like this,” he replied nonchalantly. Clarke rolled her eyes, throwing the plaid shirt back at him.

“Get dressed, we’re getting pancakes,” she ordered, pushing past him. Bellamy reached out to grab her around the waist, but she stepped out of his way too quickly, sending him a wink as she moved toward the kitchen.

“So demanding,” he commented, throwing on the plaid shirt and buttoning it up as he moved toward her.

“You love it,” she remarked, only half paying attention as she searched for her purse. “Your pants are by the couch.”

“They’re folded on the couch,” he corrected, half amused as he pulled them on.

“That must have been Raven then before she left for breakfast,” Clarke explained, laughing around her words. She finally spotted her bag, grabbing at it and throwing it over her shoulder. Her sunglasses sat on the counter and she picked them up, placing them on the top of her head as she smiled at Bellamy. “You want to drive?”

“Fine with me,” he agreed, scooping his keys out of his back pocket. “You going to let me decide where we’re going?”

“As long as you don’t take me somewhere with shitty pancakes, then yes.”

“I think I know just the place, you trust me?” Bellamy questioned.

Clarke thought over the words for the littlest bit before answering back, clear and sure.

“Yes.”

* * *

 “Ok, so this place has the best chocolate chip pancakes you’ll ever eat in your life,” Bellamy informed her, guiding her through the door with a hand on her lower back. Clarke happily allowed him to lead the way, the two of them moving to the corner booth.

“Are you a pancake person or a waffle person?” she asked casually, pulling the menu out and eyeing it lazily.

“Neither, french toast,” he answered.

“Really?” she replied. “That one came out of left field.”

“Hey Bell,” a voice came from above. Clarke looked up from her menu, eyeing the thin waitress. She was gorgeous, her long, smooth hair flowing down her back, held back by a few braids that were delicately placed. Despite the atrocious waitress uniform adorning her body, she still looked ridiculously beautiful, a kind of elegance that could not be taught but merely born with.

“Octavia,” he greeted, shifting nervously in his heat, “I didn’t know you were working today.”

“Picked up a shift for Anya, who’s this?” she questioned, eyeing Clarke questionably.

“Clarke,” she introduced, holding out her hand to shake. Octavia took it, shaking it as she smiled goofily at her.

“Octavia, nice to meet you,” she replied. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”

“Can I have some coffee? And a water?” Clarke asked.

“I’ll do the same,” he told her, sending a friendly smile in her direction as she pushed away. “Clarke-”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Clarke began, watching the nervous look on his face melt into a look filled with humor. “I believe tha- wait, Octavia that’s…”

“My sister,” he finished for her, “that’s my sister. I didn’t know she would be working, I didn’t want you to think that I came here specifically so you could meet my sister or something.”

“Bellamy Blake, who knew you had such a weird thing about me meeting your family,” Clarke joked. “I didn’t think you were serious when you said your mom thought we were engaged, but clearly you’re ready for us to take the next step.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he spoke sardonically. “I swear the pancakes are really worth dying for.”

“Your sister seems pretty badass if it means anything,” Clarke declared, eyeing the younger girl as she grabbed the coffee pot and came to join them.

“So are you two…” she trailed off, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Bellamy groaned underneath his breath, but Clarke merely laughed in return.

“She’s the phone girl,” Bellamy stated.

“Your phone girl?” Octavia exclaimed, her eyes widening comically. “Mom is in love with you, she practically started planning your guys’ wedding. Wow, nice to be in the presence of such royalty.”

Bellamy snickered at the mention of royalty, sending a glance over to Clarke that she narrowed her eyes at. “I’m phone girl,” she admitted.

“What can I get you two? Scratch that, I know what Bell will want, what do you want Clarke?”

“I’d love chocolate pancakes if you could manage them,” she requested.

“Of course,” Octavia confirmed as she scribbled on the notepad, making one final dramatic loop on the paper before tapping the pen. “It should barely be long at all.”

“I like your family,” she decided, enjoying the happy smile that took over his face as he thought about them, “they’re so loving.”

“Overbearing,” he remedied, “a little too nosy, but family all the same. What about you?”

“It’s just me and my mom,” she described with a shrug.

“Any time you want to join in on the hectic family life, feel free to come to a family dinner at the Blakes. It’ll make you long for some peace and quiet,” Bellamy continued on, barely batting an eye at Clarke’s words. Clarke loved that he was so understanding, that he didn’t feel the need to make a big deal out of the things others in the past had.

The more time she spent with Bellamy the more she realized she liked him,  _really_  liked him, and she was more than excited to see where this thing between them was going to go. It felt easy to talk to him, to be with him, but it was more than that. She felt like there was something pulling them together, something deeper than just physical connection that made them truly compatible.

“So does this count as our date later in the week or am I guaranteed another one?” Clarke questioned conversationally. Bellamy took a gulp of his coffee, eyeing her over the cup before setting it down gently on the table.

“I think I need to see how the rest of the date goes first,” he answered.

“And how am I doing so far?” she queried, raising a single eyebrow.

Bellamy winked, grabbing her hand across the table. “Alright.”

Clarke couldn’t help herself, noticing the smile that stretched across his face, she pushed herself up in the seat and leaned across the table, kissing him soundly on the mouth.

“You’re doing pretty well, too.”

Bellamy grabbed the sides of her face before she could pull back, kissing her once more in reply. She rested her forehead against his for several seconds before releasing a giggle and pushing back.

“You’re disgusting,” Octavia blurted, dropping the food in front of them. Clarke and Bellamy shared a look, laughing together, their hands still held together, fingers interlocked, and even though Clarke thought it would annoy her to eat while they held hands, she found with Bellamy she didn’t mind one last bit.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in more of my writing and just want to see what i'm up to, find me on tumblr [here](http://castielscrusade.tumblr.com/)


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